


You In Me

by takenbynumbers



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Freeform, Frottage, Guns, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27920191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takenbynumbers/pseuds/takenbynumbers
Summary: A few times Vincent has been shot. On separate occasions.
Relationships: Vincent Valentine/Veld
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	You In Me

**Author's Note:**

> for j_marquis - happy birthday.

The first time he gets shot, he doesn’t know what is happening. He looks down to see bright red blossoming against the white of his shirt, just above navel height. His hearing starts tunnelling, and the pain kicks in about twenty seconds later.

“…Valentine!”

Falling to his knees, he lets out a garbled noise, tipping over onto his side, clutching his stomach. Everything fades around him, and he is dimly aware of Veld kneeling by his side and a hand on his shoulder. It’s reassuring in every way that he wishes he could have felt before bleeding out in a dingy part of Sector Three.  
  


*

  
The second time he gets shot, it’s in the arm. The blood blooms immediately, and he grunts in pain.

“Had enough?”

Vincent looks up at the interrogators defiantly, strands of black falling in front of his face. “No.”

Another shot just misses his ear and lodges in the wall next to his head. The ringing in his ears is _deafening_ , and he groans, eyes closing in pain. He tries pressing his lips together and making an ‘O’, trying to force his ears to quit…ringing. Veld described it once to him, but it was an awful descriptor. He’s unaware of the fact that the voices have stopped, too focused on his lack of hearing.

A hand touches his shoulder, moves down his arm. Vincent hisses when it touches his new wound, and finally he opens his eyes. He can see Veld in front of him, mouthing _something_ at him, and he smiles.

_You’re a fuckin’ idiot._

“About time you showed up,” he says, or tries to. He can’t hear anything, doesn’t know if it’s at the right volume, but judging by the small smile on Veld’s face, it’s loud enough.

  
  
*  
  


  
The seventh time he gets shot, he’s in the range. He’s topped the scoreboard (again) and is pleased to see Veld is _furious_ about it. They’ve had a long-running competition for a couple of years now, and Vincent just so happens to be in the lead. Part of it may have something to do with his ability to distract Veld.

“Are you fucking _kidding me_?” Veld slams his gun down, and his finger slips. A rookie error, but Vincent feels it. Right in the thigh. He falls to the ground, unable to stop the odd laugh-groan that escapes.

“Oh, _fuck_.”

Vincent is too busy trying to figure out how Veld could have even gotten that shot off, but he’s also been pondering recently if he’s now just a magnet for bullets. Wouldn’t at all surprise him if a nurse slipped something into him during his many numerous, entirely spontaneous visits to the medical bay. His thoughts trail off as Veld crouches down next to him. Vincent can tell he’s stressed by the way he’s running his hand through his hair.

So, Vincent does it for him. It’s surprisingly soft, and Veld gapes at him for a moment, his own hand in mid-air. Vincent repeats the motion, until the burn in his thigh starts to get to him, and he looks down, frowning. The navy material of his slacks looks almost black with the blood seeping through, and Vincent presses one hand over the wound. A tanned hand rests on top of his, applying pressure, and he looks up.

“Sorry ‘bout…the whole…” Veld isn’t even looking at his face, he’s just staring at Vincent’s lips and he thinks it’s maybe because he keeps licking them. His breath quickens, anticipation thrumming through him as Veld leans in. His first thought is _finally_. His second thought is –

“ _Fuck_!” Veld jumps back and Vincent just grunts, looking at his leg helplessly. “Too much pressure.”

*

  
  
Later, when he’s reclining on the bed, Veld stays with him. For once, he’s not hovering out of fear that Vincent will suddenly keel over. Instead, he seems nervous. Which isn’t a look that Vincent is used to seeing on Veld.

Vincent clears his throat. “Do you want to sit on the bed with me?”

Veld flushes, and Vincent moves over, making room. His leg doesn’t hurt, but he’s been instructed to rest for the rest of the week, and he plans on taking advantage of the time off to actually get some reading done. Those plans might involve Veld during his downtime. Pre-empting, really. When Veld sits down – albeit _right_ on the edge – Vincent smiles and reaches out, touching his back. “I won’t bite.”

“Maybe I’d like that,” Veld mutters under his breath, and Vincent’s smile broadens. “Don’t you say a word. You’re injured. You’re meant to be in _respite_.”

Vincent shrugs and moves his hand to Veld’s shoulder, pulling him down. His head lands on Vincent’s injured thigh, and he’s not proud of the noise that escapes him. Veld immediately jolts upright and looks horrified. Vincent moves his legs, and immediately yanks Veld back down again.

“What’re -”

The first kiss clacks their teeth together and they both wince at the impact. Veld shifts until he’s propped up on one elbow, the other coming to cup Vincent’s cheek tenderly. Vincent leans into the touch, the rough pads of Veld’s fingertips caressing his face like nothing he’s ever experienced before. A shudder runs through him, and he presses _close_ against Veld – all long lines and too much clothing, but Veld doesn’t push him away. Instead, he just grasps him by the shoulders, keeps him close.

It’s not coordinated. Vincent grinds up against Veld like he’s the only thing that can get him off in the moment, while Veld just rocks against him – firm muscles and stubble making Vincent want to hold off, make him grit his teeth, fist the sheets like it’ll stop him from coming in his pants like a damned teenager.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Veld gets his thigh between Vincent’s legs, and rocks against him _just so_ , and Vincent comes with a low gasp – shaking and grasping Veld’s shoulders, trying to stop him from moving but also _not_. It’s too much sensation all at once, especially when Veld takes his hand, shoves it under the waistband of his slacks, to his cock. Vincent manages to curl his fingers around Veld’s length and stroke as best he can. The angle is awkward enough with the way Veld keeps pressing against Vincent’s body, urgency evident even without the prompting.

“Thought I was meant to be in respite?” Vincent manages to murmur, exhaustion creeping in post-orgasm. Veld grunts and pushes Vincent away. He pulls his hand free, only to have Veld fumbling with getting his slacks open and pushes them down with his briefs. It’s comical, the way he’s just in his shirt and holster, and Vincent looks to see if Veld wears the same sock garters that he wears.

“Would you suck me off?” Veld asks throatily, one hand fisting himself, as Vincent pulls himself from his momentary distraction. He nods, and Veld just looks at him pointedly when he doesn’t make any move to follow through, and just lays back against the bed, come drying in his pants in a rather unpleasant fashion. He gives Veld a half grin, and Veld just chuckles, still stroking himself. “Maybe not right now. Just your hand?”

Vincent shifts until he’s sitting back against the headboard and Veld kneels next to him. He replaces Veld’s hand with his own, mesmerized by the softness contrasting with how _hard_ he is. His thumb rubs over the head, spreading precome, and Veld’s hand comes to curl in Vincent’s hair, carding through the strands slowly.

It doesn’t take much – once Vincent gets the rhythm right with some breathless encouragement, he reduces Veld to a trembling mess of swearing and jerking movements. When Veld tugs on his hair and Vincent moans in surprise, it’s enough to push him over. He keeps stroking him through it until Veld gently takes his hand off him. Vincent brings his hand to his mouth and licks experimentally. It’s not terrible but the dark look that Veld gives him makes him want to do it again.

“Fuck. I can’t go again that quickly. ‘Sides, you’re meant to be restin’.”

Veld insists on helping him to the bathroom to clean up. Vincent thinks it’s just an excuse for Veld to touch him and he’s happy to not be proven wrong. He leans against him, pressing his cheek against Veld’s hair and slinging one arm around his shoulders as Veld grumbles under his breath.

“You look ridiculous right now,” Vincent says helpfully as Veld leads him back to the bedroom.

“Any excuse to get me naked, right?” Veld retorts, but as soon as Vincent takes his shirt off, Veld is taking his holster off, followed by his own shirt.

“Are you my new nursemaid?”

That gets him an eye roll. “With the number of times you’ve been shot, I think you’re in need of a new career change,” Veld mutters under his breath, slipping into bed next to Vincent. It makes him chuckle, and Veld pulls him close, mindful of his thigh.

“…Would you wear a nurse outfit?”

“Vincent, I will shoot you with purpose next time if you don’t stop talkin’.”


End file.
